


We are discovered, flee immediately

by timeheist



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, RPF - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/timeheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a joke, Arthur Conan Doyle once sent five letters to five friends that read, “We are discovered, flee immediately”, to see what they would do. One of them disappeared and Conan Doyle never saw him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We are discovered, flee immediately

It was a nondescript envelope, not old, not worn, not… anything at all. The Doctor turned it over in his hands, looking for a postmark or a date, or a seal. Finding none he turned it back to the front, scanning the dark, blueish ink in which someone had scrawled the words The Doctor the middle of the envelope. He smiled, a little sadly; he hadn’t heard that name since his last regeneration. Of course that was the least surprising thing about the TARDIS console suddenly relinquishing a letter into his lap in the middle of a nap. No one ever wrote him letters. And when they did, they never made it to the TARDIS, and he usually picked them up a couple of hundred years too late, when half the words had faded and he had to go back and ask the sender what was wrong. 

He held the letter between forefinger and thumb, taking a tentative sniff of the crisp paper and, deciding that was going to offer no more information about the sender, contents or point of origin than anything else had, he finally gave a disappointed sigh and wandered off in search of a letter opener. He finally found one half an hour later, in the back of a room that he didn’t know he had, and settled into an old armchair that his eighth self had picked up for Charlie, crossed one leg over the other, and shook the letter out of the envelope and into his lap. A few seconds later, he was tripping over his own feet to get out of the armchair and back to the console room.

“We are discovered, flee immediately!” His arms flailed like some kind of drunken bird, and he spun on one foot in his attempts to reach one elusive dial at the top of the console. “What do you think about that, Sexy?”

As the engines whirred up he bent at the waist and pressed a less-than-chaste kiss to the middle of the keyboard, patting it with both hands as he straightened up and rushing around to the other side to input the coordinates. The console room tilted, and he pulled the lever for a take-off just in time, sliding backwards so that he slumped across the safety rail and tangled his arms in a very familiar, very red scarf that had been thrown out of the way the night before. As if on cue, a very familiar, very red-headed woman appeared around the corner followed by a very familiar not-so red-headed man with much less practice in a TARDIS-worthy centre of balance.

“Doctor, what’s going on?”

“Ah, yes!” The Doctor rubbed his hands together, grinning. “Explanations are in order, good things, explanations, right Ponds?”

Amy Pond folded her arms across her chest and stumbled her way over to the middle of the console room, while Rory Pond (who really insisted they should both be Williamses, but also thought he would never win the argument) made his way there much more slowly, holding on – he thought sensibly, the Doctor supposed, but where was the fun in sensible? – to whatever he could on the way there. Amy waggled her finger almost aggressively and the Doctor threw his hands up in a playful gesture of surrender, before tapping her on the nose and returning to his ‘piloting’. Amy’s arms folded again, even more tightly, and she loomed over the Doctor’s shoulder like a great red vulture.

“Get to the point for once you great lummox.”

“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.” The Doctor pulled at his lapels and adjusted his bowtie proudly, emerging from the middle of the room for a rare second before darting to turn a knob that the TARDIS could have easily done on her own. Traditional old boy, and all; at least, that was what he claimed whenever River questioned his driving skills, which since their marriage was increasingly frequently. The TARDIS reminded him of the fact with a pleasantly irritated hum. “Sent me a letter. Cheeky man, Arthur.” He grinned, tapping the side of his nose, “It’d be rude not to drop in.”

“Is there some kind of alien rule against simply writing a letter?” Rory reached the console with a slight air of travel-sickness, wrapping his arms around Amy’s waist for comfort. She turned her head to rest it against his neck, and the Doctor turned away, giving them a little bit of privacy. They’d lost each other enough times that he knew when to give them ‘a moment’.

“Several.” The Doctor counted on his fingertips, leaning back against the console and causing the whole room to tilt again to the other direction. The Ponds-Williamses gathered themselves with whatever dignity they had left, travelling with the Doctor for so long, ignoring the Time Lord as he listed off no less than eighteen different planets and customs regarding not replying to a letter with a letter and finally got, as he always eventually did, to the point. “But no. This letter is different. We are discovered, flee immediately. See? It’s a code.”

“We are discovered, flee… Wait. I know that.”

Amy’s brow furrowed in thought, and Rory nodded beside her, equally confounded. “Yeah, I read it on some trivia website. Didn’t he send the same letter to five people?”

“Six.” The Doctor looked a little put out. He nodded to himself. “They always forget me. Wibbly wobbly and all that.”

Rory scoffed. “How could anyone forget you?”

“Well I sort of have to go… do a thing.” He shrugged, noncommittal. Apparently that was all the answer they were getting for now. Amy decided that she was probably going to need her scarf if they were going anywhere near Victorian England, and Rory shoved his hands into the pocket of his parka in resignation. “You’re welcome to come along if you like.”

“What, you thought you could leave us behind?” Amy smirked. “Yeah, right.”

The Doctor turned and raised an eyebrow, and there was even something of a blush, rising up around his ears and settled into little more than a flush across the bridge of his nose. He coughed, rubbing his eyes, and folded his arms across his chest. “Well, never.” He paused, running his tongue along his top teeth, and Amy tapped her feet so hard the sound echoed around the room. Rory held her tighter with a loving, if tired, sigh. “But I’d have to see what Arthur thinks about third and fourth parties.” A light flashed on the TARDIS, near where the envelope had arrived earlier, “Fifth, maybe. Although River might make it a little awkward for the two of you.” Rory and Amy just blinked. The Doctor raised an eyebrow, as though what he hadn’t bothered to explain was perfectly obvious, and they just weren’t keeping up. “…Why did you think I was visiting Arthur?”

“Not as a booty call!” Amy was the first to break out of her stupefied silence, all but shouting. “You mean to tell me what… whoever they were… discovered-“

“High society friends of his. Long story short, LGBT rights were never any good.”

“Right… What you’re saying is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – the man who wrote Sherlock Holmes – was gay,” Amy had to stop herself from laughing, “And his friends found out so he, what… Called you for one last stand?”

Rory groaned, speaking hastily. “Count me out then.” He held Amy a bit tighter, possessively the Doctor thought, and took a step back almost as though he was an animal. He knew Rory would trust him to the ends of the earth, but always consider him a rival. “Amy too.”

“Did you say River might join in?” The Doctor nodded, a grin creeping onto his features, “Then yeah. Count me out.”

“Your loss.”

The Doctor grinned and spun back to face the TARDIS as the Ponds rolled their eyes and disappeared back to their bunk beds, answering the call from River and turning on the throttle.

“Hello Sweetie.” The Doctor’s grin grew even wider, and he straightened up his bowtie even as the TARDIS landed and the doorbell rang. “I hear Arthur finally called...”


End file.
